


Booty Call

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [18]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Orgy, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: Starscream was saying something. Wasn't he?





	Booty Call

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for JarOfLooseScrews on Tumblr. Just getting around to posting it here now. Pfft.

In the end, it didn’t matter which hand first stroked along his wing. The higher one climbed among the Decepticon elite, the rarer opportunities to indulge became. Personal safety had to be a priority. And Starscream had climbed to the very top eons ago. Well, nearly the top.

That was what he had imprinted them for, after all: getting to the top.

Starscream studied his tiny armada through narrowed optics. All hands hung at their sides, and they looked at him with his own smirk. They were handsome, weren’t they? Every inch of them had formed as perfectly as his own body.

Resuming his speech just ended in distraction again. This time, spinning on his heel, he caught the hand on his rear. His own chagrin met him, of course. He expected that. What he didn’t expect was a second hand closing over his wing from behind while he held the aft-toucher’s hand. A third took up that place on his aft, and Starscream jumped.

They were his armada and his chance to seize control over the Decepticons --

“I wonder,” one said, interrupting Starscream’s thoughts. The speaker reached out to stroke along another clone’s wings, and Starscream felt the touch ghosting over _his_ sensory net. Pleasure jolted through him; a half forgotten yet intimately familiar ache. He shuddered, and these copies of himself, sensing that flicker of weakness, closed in.

Claw tips ghosted over his body in a torrent of sensation unconnected to the actual hands touching him. The real, physical touch drew sharp fingers up to his wings, while the unreal echo traced downward to frame his aft. He felt every touch they gave to each other, too. Every touch and that phantom stimulus threatened to overwhelm his processor more than the real touches.

The clones crowded Starscream, surrounding him with eager lust. It couldn't hurt, could it? They were pieces of himself, weren't they? He hadn't taken a lover in so long, and these were copies of his own body. His own mind worked inside their heads. Didn't it?

And who else could he trust but himself? Who else would know where his greatest pleasures lie? And who else would want to know where he liked to be touched and indulged?

 

He leaned into the touches, real or not, and let his engines rumble in pleasure. These extensions of himself petted and stroked wings, whether his or their own he couldn't tell. The increased static load crackled through Starscream. His wings burned as a seeming multitude of claws worked around armor edges to stroke wires or to locate and circle across his precisely calibrated instrumentation. Narrow hands, all too familiar by feel, roamed over his backside as well. A more intimate place to touch, if a less sensor rich area to explore.

One clone knelt on the floor before Starscream. The clone’s hands followed the contours of Starscream's legs all the way down to his feet. Sharp fingers skittered over the ticklish data nexuses merging all through the length of each appendage. He moaned when the clone moved back up to explore the inner structures of his ankles.

"You feel the difference?" one clone breathed behind him.

"Your theory was correct," the second whimpered off to his side as Starscream felt denta close on his wing's edge.

Heat pooled in his very struts. Starscream’s processor strained as his overworked cooling system struggled to keep him going. Nothing had given him this much pleasure in _ages_ ; he shouldn’t be surprised it came, essentially, from his own hands.

Expert fingers explored the arch of his feet. Sharp tips delicately prodded at the gyros that kept him balanced on the ground and the elevators that controlled his flight pitch. The one behind him that explored his aft pulled him even tighter, wings to chest. Beside Starscream and the two clones touching him, two more clones touched every inch of each other’s sensitive wings, teasing Starscream with their gratification layered over his own.

“And it just keeps coming back from him!” one of them moaned.

Directly in front of Starscream, the fifth clone touched his own body. Starscream watched, feeling every bump and flick, as the clone teased his own spike out and wrapped his hands around it. Starscream didn’t care that his own spike jutted out in response. In such mirroring and handsome company, he didn’t feel the least embarrassed. When the clone worshipping at his feet leaned forward and swallowed Starscream’s spike down, he hissed in satisfaction.

Newly understanding his one-time popularity for this particular act, Starscream rocked between the clone behind him and the one sucking him dry. The two beside _them_ set to kissing delicate ailerons and flaps.

And the show off in front of Starscream slid tightly packed fingers inside himself, and Starscream’s body seized up. The blue-white arcs of a truly powerful overload broke over him, juttering outward to the two that held him. The other three fell into the molten pleasure with them, following that living connection that each shared with Starscream, and reflected it back to him. The spiraling vortex sucked him down, like the humans’ rabbit hole, and drowned his mind with it until the hedonistic pleasure shut him down.

A dream of doing this again followed him into that most welcome darkness.


End file.
